


Wanting

by chaoticlivi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: Crowley has always wanted.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> A quick unbeta'd little ficlet.

Angels sprang into existence fully formed. They weren’t like humans exactly, but they were made of a lot of the same stuff. God’s imagination, for a start. They weren’t imbued with all the same instincts that humans would be, didn’t come equipped with neurobiology and other such baggage, but at their cores were some similar experiences - love, anger, wonder, disgust, desire, fear. And each angel, for reasons no one understands, was a little bit different from the last.

This, some would argue, caused the Rebellion and the Fall. Suddenly, angel-kind was divided. Where they had previously understood no real division aside from their own organizational rankings, the angels of Heaven were now defined by their Fallen counterparts, and vice versa.

The Fallen were changed fundamentally. Their dive into the sulfuric pits of what would one day become the Earth’s Hell twisted their bodies until they took on the aspects of the Earth’s beasts, a reminder that they were now to view themselves as lesser than angels and, someday, humans. Their metaphysical traces changed into something angels would be able to identify (and hate). They were even, it seemed, injected with a newfound desire for chaos.

And yet.

They didn’t lose all their memories, nor did they lose free will. The remains of what the Fallen once were still existed, at their cores, charred and far worse for wear but intact all the same. The beasts they became still had the same emotional capabilities - love, anger, wonder, disgust, desire, fear. And each of them was still a little bit different from the last.

However, each of them was left with a chasm of emptiness that resulted from losing Heaven. And exploiting that chasm is how the Devil came to dominate Hell with nothing but disgust and anger and fear. Most demons did their best to snuff out their desires, their loves, their senses of wonder. After all, they had been put beneath such experiences, and such vulnerabilities would be used against them.

Still, the tiny embers that could flare into those experiences are inside them to this day, as they’re inside angels, as they’re inside humans. Either God didn’t want them gone, or She didn’t believe they should be taken, or She couldn’t take them.

Crowley had always, deep down, secretly wanted to be special. He'd never say it out loud, but it's true.

God supposedly loved all of Her creations, but that...wasn’t what Crowley had been looking for, exactly. Not even from the start. Her love had been sorely missed, of course, when it had been withdrawn, but there was something more Crowley had sought. If You feel the same about all of us, then why did You make us different? And if You’d love all of us no matter our differences, then why are there some things we’re not allowed to do? Can I be loved not regardless of who and what I am, but because of it? Perhaps these were the seeds of pride. Thousands of years later, people would say, “Pride goes before the Fall.”

Eve had been a bit of an experiment.

It sounds cold to put it like that. But at the time, Crowley - then Crawly - hadn’t known Adam or Eve or humanity and its nature. He’d just known God had given somebody else a chance after She’d rejected half her angels, and he’d wanted to see what She’d do if the humans rebelled against Her will, too. It was a brilliant way to achieve the objective of his mission and satisfy his own personal curiosity. What he’d felt on watching the humans get exiled hadn’t exactly been regret, since his continued torture-free existence depended on his ability to “make trouble” and he also wasn’t the one who had decided to mete out the punishment, but there’d been an inkling of kinship. Sympathy.

Then there’d been the angel at the gate. Over the next several millennia, Crowley would discover that his desire to be special had not been burned out of him.

He satisfied that desire in complicated plans for Hell, both in proving his wiles against humans and in grifting his Hellish bosses. Another way to satisfy it, Crowley discovered, was Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had expected him to act like an enemy, but had remained polite anyway. And when Crowley surprised Aziraphale, the angel was genuinely delighted. He didn’t have to pretend not to be a demon. But he didn’t have to conform to Hell’s expectations, either. Though there was still a great deal of hiding to do, Crowley got to make more of his own personal choices with Aziraphale than he’d ever been allowed before.

Aziraphale would explain he didn’t believe in choice for angels and demons because, factually, they weren’t supposed to have choices. But he’d given Crowley one. He’d wanted Crowley to have it.

It isn’t merely the burn of desperation that draws Crowley toward Aziraphale. He isn’t a rat sniffing around for discarded food. No, he’s genuinely fascinated by this stubborn piece of Heaven who is somehow both the worst and the best angel at the same time. Aziraphale is a comfort and a curiosity and a delight, a cornerstone for Crowley’s experience here on Earth. Where Crowley was supposed to reject humanity, Aziraphale had introduced him to the pleasures of the world. Where Crowley was supposed to ignore every trace of his consideration for others, Aziraphale had rewarded him for being gentle. Where Crowley was supposed to wring the need for comfort out of himself, Aziraphale had been there to offer a wing, a meal, a smile, a bottle of whisky.

And even now, even through the haze of fear, Aziraphale...wants him. He wants Crowley. He wants the bits of Crowley that don’t fit into Hell and he wants the bits that didn’t fit into Heaven. In other words, with Aziraphale, Crowley gets to be special. That tiny ember hasn’t gone away. Aziraphale has kept it warm and dry and safe.

Please, Crowley can’t say out loud. Please let me have more. Please keep wanting me. Even before the Fall, She didn’t want me like you. We didn’t have secrets together.

There is a question of what _want_ means. What kind of intimacy? It doesn’t have the same meaning to supernaturals as it does to human people. Although Crowley is open to trying it all in due time, the only important thing he really knows is that he wants to be close, to wrap around Aziraphale and bask in his warmth.

After Armageddon, after the end of the old world and the start of a new one, Crowley gets that chance. He starts out holding the angel gently, but Aziraphale presses further and further into his embrace. Crowley knows he’s wanted, has known for ages. He isn’t quite prepared for how much.

They breathe, like humans. They’re warm, like humans. Those embers they’ve had at their cores for so long play together, safe between the pair of them. And they don’t move for days.


End file.
